


Spotlight On Me and I'm Ready to Break

by GoldStarGrl



Category: Arrested Development
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, Mentions of Underage, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex Work, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:25:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2588258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldStarGrl/pseuds/GoldStarGrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gob really loves stripping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spotlight On Me and I'm Ready to Break

It started when he was a kid. 

He had snuck into the club several times during his teenage years. All the men were so glamorous, so powerful and confident. He could watch them for hours, gently swaying in time to the music until he could mimic every routine in the show. He was so tall, he never looked like a high schooler. More than a few eyes were drawn to him.

He turned eighteen on the 6th. By the 11th, Bill had called him three times with a job offer.

His first night he shoved his cop costume in his backpack and told Michael he was going to meet a girl. He didn’t care, but he was the only one who would’ve noticed if Gob disappeared.

He jumped on the stage and hit the pole so hard his hands stung. 

* * *

He wasn't as graceful as the other dancers. 

They could roll and grind and twist in a way he never really got the hang of. His legs were too gangly and his hips too narrow. But he had bright eyes and a lean frame and he wasn’t hooked on anything (lethal, anyway), so Bill and the rest of the management kept him around. 

He became popular due to his sheer youth and exuberance; He could dance for hours without stopping. The huge, crooked smile never left his face.

* * *

It became his safe place, as perverse as it was.

When his music started playing, his legs started moving, his fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons. 

_We're leaving together,_  
_But still it's farewell_

That’s when he felt most alive. 

_And maybe we'll come back,_  
_To earth, who can tell ?_

Because the way people looked at him- Drunk bridal parties, bored gay men, shifty, greasy, leather daddies - was unforgettable, burned into the back of his eyelids for years to come..

_I guess there is no one to blame_  
_We're leaving ground_

Their eyes lit up. They smiled, leaning forward in their seats to watch him, drink in every curve and contour of the body that never used to feel right.

_Will things ever be the same again?_

They liked seeing him. They liked him.

_It's the final countdown._

That stage was a place he was somebody. 

* * *

But time makes soldiers of us all. 

Waging constant wars against us with thinning hair and the crinkling corners of our eyes.

Realizing our tips are getting smaller and lifting our legs to our shoulders causes gasps of alarm, not arousal. 

The day they tell him it’s time to move on he punches the bouncer and destroys three chairs with his fire-up-the-sleeves trick.

* * *

He sits on the roof of the model home, smoking. 

He can’t figure out why he’s so upset.

“Because it’s the only real job you’ve ever had?” Michael guesses, sticking his head out the window like he did when they were kids, making sure his brother's not too close to the edge.

Gob leans down and spits smoke out onto his brother's face. Michael curses and slams the window shut. Gob turns back to face the moon. 

His brother was wrong. He didn’t do it for the job, the money.  He was dancing a long time before his family had nothing. 

_He_ had had nothing, though.

And now he did again.


End file.
